


Dare You

by thereisalwaysroom



Series: The Moment Before [3]
Category: Call Me By Your Name (2017) RPF
Genre: Actors Falling in Love, Biting, CMBYN Hearts Eyes, CMBYN writing challenge, Casual Intimacy, Kissing, M/M, Not So Casual Intimacy, Work Crushes, becoming, this is so deeply deeply fictional
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-06-03
Updated: 2018-06-03
Packaged: 2019-05-17 21:36:33
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,485
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14839604
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thereisalwaysroom/pseuds/thereisalwaysroom
Summary: It is, as they say,sanctum sanctorum.





	Dare You

**Author's Note:**

> Written for the CMBYN Hearts Eyes Challenge. Everything in this is fictional. Do not repost any of my work without my explicit permission.

   “ _Si, questo, per favore_.” Luca’s voice is like warm sand as Timothée comes out of the trailer to catch them viewing dailies. S—— and Luca are peering at the monitor, Armie standing nearby, Oliver’s short shorts replaced by his own jeans, watching what he can.

   He catches Timmy’s eye as he comes down the stairs, immediately reaching for his hand and pulling him into his space. Tim’s heart leaps at the gesture, but even more so at the private smile they share. He and Armie have spent the majority of the shoot today touching each other. They’ve wrapped for the evening, but he’s finding he really doesn’t want to stop. Armie doesn’t seem to want to either. Luca doesn’t seem to care.

   “ _Si_ , that. Let me look at that one, please,” he says softly, and Timmy can now see he’s analyzing footage of the nosebleed scene. He moves to see a little better - Armie pulls him into the circle of his arms to help, and Timmy can’t resist, barely an inch from that handsome face. He opens his mouth and playfully nips at his chin, like a puppy going for the hand that just wants to pet.

   Armie chuckles. “Vicious.” He moves to press a kiss to his cheek but, with an armful of a squirming goofball, catches Tim right on the open mouth. It’s short, brief, a peck compared to everything else they’ve shared in the past few days, since that first rehearsal. It makes the breath catch in Tim’s chest all the same, head swimming like he’s still underwater.

   Armie doesn’t give him time to think about it too much. He twirls his Elio around with one hand, like they’re on the dance floor, beaming, then pulls him in, chest to back so they can gaze at the footage, arms around his waist.

   This isn’t new. But it’s lovely, the carefree way they fold into each other when they’re on set, a sort of freedom to nurture the boys’ intensifying intimacy as they get closer. Armie will put a hand on the back of his neck to shield him from the sun, or Timmy will find himself coming up to wrap his arms around his shoulders if he finds Armie sitting down. They’ll wrestle on the grass, all elbows and knees and grinning teeth, and when Armie’s body pins him to the ground, it’s a special kind of ecstasy that leaves him gasping, even as he bucks to free himself. They are in and around and on each other all the time, and there is utter safety in that liminal space.

   It is, as they say,  _sanctum sanctorum_.

   Armie’s jaw knocks gently against the side of his head, a half-nuzzle into his companion’s curls as Luca pulls up the hallway scene. “Whoo, those are some  _short_  shorts, man,” Tim says with a little chuckle. Armie lets out a small groan that dissolves into a snort of laughter, dropping his head on the shoulder in front of him.

   “Don’t worry about it,” Luca says, voice dancing with mirth. “We’ll take care of that later.”

   Tim looks back at Armie, raising his hand up and back to caress his face. Armie lifts his head - he’s scarlet, though smiling. “Kinda fits the scene, though,” Timmy says, thinking of how Armie had so carefully tucked his foot between his thighs, cradling his ankle, and -

   “ _Si_ , that’s lovely,  _là_ ,” Luca murmurs - Elio biting the napkin he’s holding as Oliver draws one leg into his lap. Armie makes a soft noise in agreement.

   “I didn’t notice that before,” he says. “That’s so Elio. Beautiful.”

   Tim feels a familiar swoop in his chest . “Foot massage by Oliver? Of course I gotta bite the stick,” he chirps, flushed with pleasure at the compliment.

   Really, it had been completely involuntary reaction. ****

Armie wore Oliver like a finely tailored suit, his fingers strong, the skin of his legs warmly toasted from the sun. He’d still smelled slightly of sunscreen and the orange he’d eaten at lunch. He’d sat so close their knees had knocked and Tim could see the pale line of his tan where his shorts had drifted up. The sight alone had made his heart do a joyous bellyflop into his gut, and that single touch had been enough to make him bite the fabric to keep from moaning. Oh, he’d felt so very _Elio_  today. And Armie has been so very, very  _Oliver_. 

   Glowing, he relaxes back against his costar’s broad chest, resting his hands on the arms wrapped around his waist. He’s rewarded with a little hum, and then there’s suddenly Armie’s warm,  _open_  mouth on his neck, and, oh _, oh,_ ahint of teeth. It’s not enough to hurt, not hard enough to leave a mark, it’s not even enough to really do much of anything, except send his heart rate sky-high in half a beat. He sways against Armie’s chest, shocked and mortified and  _delighted_  that those lips now cover his fluttering pulse that’s far, far too fast.

   No one is paying them attention, they’re standing seemingly separate from the two figures in front of the monitor. The love bite on his neck is gone as soon as it’s bestowed. He feels it, hot, like a brand.

   A breath. A beat.

   Unable to hear anything but the rushing blood in his ears, Tim slides his hands down to where Armie’s are, on either side of his hips.

   Together, neither leading nor following, their joined hands slide up his slim chest, the others slipping under the hem of his t-shirt to press over his lower belly. Armie’s thumb moves softly over his navel. Tim feels like he’s breathing for both of them. Armie’s palm is over his heart, and there’s no way,  _no way_ he can’t feel that far-too-rapid beating, like he’s trying to run from the truth.

 _I dare you_ , Elio practically whispering in his ear, remembering the shock and the heat apparent in those blue eyes when he’d stepped forward in that cold, cold water.  _I dare you, Oliver, Oliver, Oliver._

   When he turns his head again, Armie meets him. Like he’s been bloody waiting. They’ve kissed dozens of times today and yesterday, and yet it anchors Timmy’s feet to the floor and sends a thrill rocketing through him like sudden drop. Armie kisses him without hesitation, without his Oliver skin, Oliver shorts, Oliver swagger, Oliver shield. He kisses him without care that they’re barely two feet from Luca, in his normal clothes, right in front of the trailer door. He kisses him with a hand in his shirt, with aching affection. With  _tongue._

   Timothée kisses back like he’s made for nothing else. He opens his mouth and lets him in, and the hand on his belly twitches, slides up a little further. Holds him closer. He drags his teeth along Armie’s lower lip, breath cresting on a sigh.

   When they part a second later, they don’t look at each other. Instead, Armie gives him a warm, loving squeeze. It makes Timmy weak at the knees, but he’s not going down. Armie has him, tight to his chest.  _Sanctum sanctorum_.

   Just over Luca’s shoulder, they can see Oliver pick up Elio’s foot and press a kiss to his ankle. That had been completely unexpected when it had happened, surprising and utterly charming. “Oh, I loved that,” Timmy says, gesturing to the screen, one hand tenderly stroking the arm cradling his chest. “That was just….ah. Hearts in my eyes.”

  “Have kiss you better  _somewhere_ ,” Armie says, “especially when I’ve got legs for days in my lap.”

   His smile widening, Timmy strokes an invisible beard, donning the voice of phony British acting-school professor. “Mmmm, yes, excellent acting,  _Armand_ ,” he drawls, speaking his name with the trademark syrupy French accent.

   Armie laughs, and digs his fingers into his ribs, tickling him viciously. Timmy yelps, dropping like a stone, the two of them melting into a pile of giggles just as Luca turns round. They manage to straighten up and take notes and even have a four minute rehearsal before heading out. Everyone is pleased. It’s a good night.

   Timmy lingers, and finds that Armie’s taking his sweet time as well to head home. Pulling away from the villa, even for a night, always feels oddly bittersweet - sometimes he’s afraid he’ll wake up and Elio won’t be there, won’t be inside him, that he’ll forget to be anything but Timothée - and yet he trusted James, his teacher, who had said that characters were merely people who lived inside you that you hadn’t met yet. Who were always there, one way or another.

   Tonight, he feels more Elio than ever. He doesn’t want it to end.

   So when Armie offers him a ride home, he accepts. Any excuse to be with Oliver. Fire down, embers still hot. He wonders if he’ll spend the night alone. Likely. But he hopes not.

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for reading!! If you enjoyed, feel free to comment. ;) Cheers xoxo


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